Part 1: Casualties of War - 48-Hour Passes
by Queen's Bishop
Summary: The men disperse after receiving 48-hour passes.
1. Chapter 1 You go your way

21

 _No infringement on the rights of the owners of "Combat!" is intended. This story is for the enjoyment of "Combat!" fans only, not for any monetary profit by the author._

 _Thanks to JML for proofreading and to Susan Rodriguez for beta reading._

 **Casualties of War**

 **Part 1: 48-Hour Passes**

 **By: Queen's Bishop**

 **The story begins two days after the end of 'Far From the Brave' (a).**

 **Indicates dialogue is in French or German, depending on the character.**

Chapter 1 – "You go your way…"

Grady…is…dead…

Grady…is…dead…

Grady…is…dead…

Every footfall pounded the message into Saunders' tired brain.

Grady…is…dead…

At first, he had just been numb. Then, he was angry…with Hanley, with Kirby, with the new guy, Delaney, with everyone. He was able to forget for a few terrifying minutes as they ran for their lives to escape from the Krauts who had them trapped and from their own artillery. But, Delaney got killed, and the numbness returned. He tried to fight it. Yesterday, when they went out on this reconnaissance patrol, when all of his senses were on high alert, he was able to forget. But now, returning from the mission, the numbness had returned.

Saunders and Long had been friends since Advanced Infantry Training. From their first experience in combat in North Africa through the fighting in Italy and now in France, it was Grady he had relied on to keep him sane in a world gone insane. Grady, who always had a ready laugh and who inevitably could make him laugh, too.

Even when one of them had been wounded and assigned to a different company upon their return to the front, they had always, somehow, managed to keep in contact. It had seemed like a miracle when Grady ended up, not only in King Company, but in his squad. Now, he cursed that day. Now, their friendship had come to an end because…

Grady…is…dead…

Grady…is…dead…

The squad was stretched out behind him. Ordinarily, there would be some light-hearted banter once they got close to their own lines. Today, however, there was only silence, or the occasional short-tempered comments made by men who were not only physically, but also mentally exhausted from so many days at the front.

He knew he should talk to Hanley about getting some time off for the squad. Even a 24-hour pass would be a welcome relief. But, he just couldn't muster the energy because…

Grady…is…dead…

Littlejohn kept his head down and just concentrated on putting one weary foot in front of the other. His body was not the only thing that was tired. He was tired of listening to Billy's seemingly endless chatter. He knew it was his young friend's way of dealing with the stress that comes with being a soldier on the front lines, but, right at that moment, the big man only wanted peace and quiet.

He remembered the peace and quiet from before, when he was back home and out in a field, working by himself. He remembered stopping to wipe the sweat from his brow and then pausing to listen to the sounds of nature, sounds that were more pleasing to his ears than any man-made noise, except maybe the purring of the family's well-tuned tractor or his ma calling him in for supper.

He ran his arm across his sweaty brow. Billy started to say something, but Littlejohn turned and scowled, causing Nelson's words to trail off.

Billy knew he talked too much, asking questions when he should just keep quiet and figure out the answer. And, he knew he could figure most things out, if he would just stop and think. Asking instead of thinking was what a kid did, and he wasn't kid anymore.

Although, he knew that if he hadn't been drafted into the Army and sent to fight in France, he sure wouldn't be the mature nineteen year old he was expected to be, not yet anyway. He would still be a kid, goofing around with his friends and his little brother, Tommy.

He heard Kirby chuckle and knew the BAR man was laughing at him. He turned around and glared at him.

Kirby had to laugh at the kid. How could anyone be as immature as Nelson? Not him, that was for sure. He had been out on the streets of Chicago since he was in short pants, scrounging for money to help support his family from the time his old man had walked out on them. Ol' William G. had learned early the first rule of survival, take care of number one. And, now that he had the BAR, he was going to be able to do just that.

Not that he was glad Long had bought it, but, since he did, it was only right that Saunders had finally given the BAR to him. The Sarge should never have given it to that cook's helper, Delaney, in the first place. After all, he had been Long's ammo carrier. He lovingly caressed the weapon.

'Now, if I could only find me a poker game with some easy pickin's, an' a nice bottle of cognac, an' maybe a mamozell to sit on my lap, I'd be one happy man,' he thought.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Doc looking at him and shaking his head.

The medic couldn't figure out why Kirby was so eager to have the BAR. To him, it was just another weapon that could rip a body apart. Doc had seen too many young men with ripped apart bodies. Sometimes, he wanted to scream at the insanity of it all. Instead, he just kept his head down and continued trying to stop the bleeding here and sprinkle sulfa there. But mostly, it seemed to him, his job was to try to comfort men who were even younger than he was so they didn't die scared and alone.

And, he was tired of it. Tired of seeing the pain and fear in their eyes, tired of hearing them cry out for their mothers, and tired of rushing to them when they had been shot, rolling them over, and looking into their dead eyes.

He heard the replacement, Baker, cough. He turned around and frowned. Yes, he was damned tired of replacements making dumb mistakes that got themselves or someone else killed.

Albert Baker looked at Doc and wondered what he had done wrong now. At first, he had felt welcomed into the squad by everyone, including the sergeant. He had been nervous, and he knew he made a couple of mistakes on the mission. But, nothing had gone seriously wrong. However, ever since they started back, it seemed as if a dark cloud had descended over the squad.

He thought he might talk to the scout when they got back and get some help with his 'soldiering skills' because he admired the way the Cajun moved. But, after some thought, he decided against it. Caje hadn't said two words to him since he joined the squad. Maybe Braddock… He turned around to say something, but Braddock, at the end of the line, was walking backwards. Baker sighed as he turned back around and continued moving forward.

Braddock heard the sigh and turned around. He almost said, "Hey, Baker, are we borin' ya?" but decided at the last minute not to. With the mood Saunders was in, he might just put the whammy on his request to become the permanent company runner.

He had heard about the opening when he went to pick up the radio for the previous mission, and he put in for it right away, before it became common knowledge in the platoon. Lt. Hanley had already approved his request and sent it on to Cpt. Jampel, but still, better not take any chances.

He closed his eyes and imagined it. No more digging foxholes or walking for hours in the rain, just riding around in a jeep delivering messages back and forth to battalion, or maybe driving the brass around…just a regular nine to five job…the sweet life!

'Braddock," he thought, 'ya just need to keep your big mouth shut…if ya can…an' not draw attention to yourself, an' soon ya'll be one lucky dogface.'

Up on point, Caje continued to scan their surroundings for any Krauts who might have wandered close to the American lines. He was glad he was separated from the rest of the squad. He had felt the tension at their last break, when Saunders took security and he had gone back to sit next to Kirby. For ten minutes, not a word had been spoken by anyone.

The Cajun didn't blame the sergeant. He knew Saunders and Long had been close. When Long first joined the squad, Caje had resented him, as well as his and the sergeant's easy-going camaraderie. It had reminded the scout too much of his own friendship with Theo (b). His resentment, however, had quickly turned to envy. They had something he had lost forever.

Now, he, of all the men in the squad, was the one who understood how much the NCO was hurting. He had felt the same way after Theo was killed on D-Day. He knew it well, that feeling of numbness where you just go through the motions of living. Except, back then he had been just a green private. Saunders was their sergeant, and as much as he was suffering from the loss of his friend, Caje knew the Sarge had to get back to leading the squad, or they would all be in trouble.

Lt. Hanley looked at his watch as he spotted First Squad returning from their overnight reconnaissance mission. It was already 1400. He had expected them back at least two hours ago.

'Things will be tight, but it will still work out.' he told himself.

He pulled in his long legs and pushed himself up from the crate he was sitting on. He went outside and watched as the men approached the CP. They looked as tired as he felt.

"I expected you back this morning. Did you run into trouble?" Hanley asked.

Saunders only shook his head. He turned to dismiss the squad before giving his report, but the lieutenant spoke first.

"Caje, Kirby, Littlejohn, Nelson and Doc…I've got 48-hour passes for you, but your transportation leaves in thirty minutes. Baker, you just got here, so you stay. Braddock, you need to decide. Join the rest of the squad for a little R&R or continue on and report to Cpt. Jampel as the new company runner. What's it going to be?"

The rest of the men gawked at Braddock.

"Company runner…" Kirby exclaimed. "Are ya nuts, Braddock? That's gotta be the worse job in the outfit."

Caje looked equally surprised and shook his head in disbelief. "You will end up like Dawes," he stated.

"Braddock, you know what the company runner does, don't you?" Saunders asked.

"Sure, Sarge. He delivers messages from the company to battalion HQ."

"An' in the middle of a battle…"

Hanley interrupted, "What's it going to be, Braddock. We haven't got all day."

The pudgy, funny man looked at his squad mates. They were all emphatically shaking their heads 'NO!'

'Maybe they want the job, now that they know about it,' he thought.

"I'm your man, Lieutenant, Sir," he quickly said as the rest of the men groaned in dismay.

"Alright…you men are dismissed. Be ready to go at 1430."

Saunders could only give a tired sigh as he followed Hanley back to the CP. Once inside, the lieutenant sat back down on his crate, pulled out his cigarettes and offered one to the NCO as he prepared to hear the report on First Squad's mission.

The sergeant took the offered smoke, but didn't light it. Instead, he pulled out his map and indicated the route the squad had taken and what they had observed.

"It looks like a Kraut build-up here," he said, pointing to the little village of Molineaux, "but we didn't see any armor; in fact, no vehicles of any kind."

"Alright, I'll let S-2 know. What held you up?"

"It was just slow going, Lieutenant. The men are beat."

"And you, how are you doing?"

The NCO knew what he was referring to, but he didn't address the lieutenant's real concern. "I'm tired, like the rest of the men. It will be good to get a couple of nights of uninterrupted sleep."

Hanley studied his friend in silence, trying to decide whether to ask him directly about the toll Cpl. Long's death had taken on him. But, in the end, he chose not to pursue it since Saunders didn't seem to want to talk about it. Instead, he pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to the sergeant.

"That's the address for the Hotel Paris. It's not much, but it beats the tents in the bivouac area. Ask for Monsieur Milbert, and tell him I sent you," he said with a grin.

"Okay, thanks, Lieutenant."

Saunders' smile didn't extend beyond the corners of his mouth. He slung his Tommy gun over his shoulder and left his friend to ponder if forty-eight hours would be enough for the sergeant to pull himself out of the deep, dark emotional hole he was in.

Once outside, Saunders lit the cigarette and wondered the same thing.

"Braddock, this has gotta be the dumbest thing ya ever done," Kirby said for the fourth time.

As he had after each of the previous three statements, Braddock just smiled and replied, "Kirby, I'll wave to ya as I drive by in my jeep."

Billy quietly asked, "Littlejohn, isn't it pretty dangerous to be the company runner?"

The big private sighed and answered the question with a question. "Billy, how many runners have there been since you joined the squad?"

"Well, there was Rodriguez…and then O'Connor for a couple of days…and then Dawes ..." Billy could have kicked himself. He should have figured out how dangerous it was and not asked.

If Braddock was having second thoughts, he kept them to himself. He packed his duffle bag while the rest of the men hurriedly got themselves cleaned up. At 1430 they pushed and shoved each other as they climbed the cellar stairs of their current billet and clambered aboard the deuce-and-a-half that would carry them to two whole days of R&R.

When the First Squad sergeant joined Cpl. Brockmeyer in the cab, they got underway. They were heading back over territory they had only recently liberated from the Krauts, to the village of Berot.

It was raucous in the back of the truck as the men continued to harass Braddock for the choice he had made. It wasn't until the vehicle slowly came to a stop in front of a pair of MPs that Saunders hollered back and told them to shut up. Then the NCO leaned out the window to speak with one of the sentries.

"Sergeant, let me see your passes. How many men ya got an' how long ya stayin'?"

The NCO handed him the passes. "There're six of us for forty-eight hours. The other two are continuing on to company HQ."

The MP handed the passes to his partner and then said, "Okay, the six get out here."

Saunders lowered the tailgate and again there was pushing and shoving as first Caje jumped down, followed by Doc, then Kirby and Littlejohn. Braddock also got out, but he joined Brockmeyer in the cab.

"Hey, what did you do with my knapsack?" Billy shouted.

The BAR man grinned.

"Look under the bench where Littlejohn was sitting," yelled Doc.

"Nelson, get out here. NOW!" Saunders hollered.

Billy quickly grabbed his pack and jumped down. He sheepishly took his place in the line that had formed in front of the burly MPs.

One of them addressed the men. "The bivouac area is about a quarter mile down the path. Ya can pick out a cot an' drop off your gear, but don't leave nothin' of value. From there, all the paths lead into town. The bars shut down at midnight. Keep outa trouble or you'll be spendin' your time restin' an' relaxin' in the stockade."

The other MP turned to Saunders and added, "Keep 'em in line, Sergeant," as he handed back the passes.

Saunders turned to his men. "Alright, listen up. Here are your passes. You've got forty-eight hours. Meet back here at 1400 the day after tomorrow, an' don't be late. An' don't come looking for me to get you outa any trouble you get yourselves into."

"But, Sarge, suppose it isn't our fault," Billy said.

Kirby, Littlejohn, Caje and Doc all rolled their eyes.

Saunders took two steps toward Billy and got right in his face. He started off speaking quietly. "Nelson, the only time I want to hear about you for the next forty-eight hours is if you get yourself killed. An' if you're dead, I can't do anything about it, so DON'T BOTHER me. YOU GOT IT!"

Billy stammered, "Yyyyes, Sir," as the other men exchanged somber glances.

The NCO slung his knapsack over his left shoulder and the Thompson over his right as he headed into the village without a backward glance.

The rest of the men waited until their sergeant was well down the road before picking up their packs.

Brockmeyer turned the truck around, and, as it pulled away, Braddock stuck his head out the window and yelled, "SEE YA AROUND, MUD EATERS!"

"DON'T COME CRAWLIN' BACK, YA DUMB IDIOT," hollered Kirby, but the only thing left of the truck was a cloud of dust. He turned to his squad mates. "I'm with the Sarge," he said. "I don't wanna see none of ya 'til 2 o'clock the day after tomorrow. So, you go your way an' I'll go mine." He headed down the path to drop off his gear.

"That suits me just fine," said Littlejohn as he took off with long strides heading directly for the town. He wanted to avoid running into Kirby, so he thought he would look around before going to the bivouac area and dropping off his gear.

Billy was about to call to his pal and run after him, but instead he just stood there, watching Littlejohn disappear down the road. Caje didn't say a word as he started down the path. Doc shrugged. He wasn't about to leave his rucksack anywhere, so he headed toward the village, leaving Nelson alone with the two MPs.

One of them chuckled and said, "Ya got yourself a real friendly squad, kid."

Billy spun around and sputtered, "I'm not a kid!"

Berot had been a busy market town of several thousand people before the war. It sat beside a river and was at the intersection of the two major roads in the area. Because of this, it had been a sought-after prize by the Allies. Thus, although it had withstood the ravages of a number of wars over the centuries, this time there had been considerable damage.

The Germans occupied the village, as they had for the previous four years, when the Americans advanced from the opposite side of the waterway. Berot was subjected to heavy shelling until, finally, American armor and infantry had poured across the two bridges that spanned the river. The Germans had delayed too long before attempting to blow them up.

Many of the buildings in the village had been destroyed or damaged beyond repair in the shelling and the street by street fighting which took place before the Germans were finally dislodged. The Krauts' last act before withdrawing was to shell the bridges to finally destroy them.

However, they were quickly replaced by a single pontoon bridge that American army engineers constructed. While the new bridge allowed traffic, especially armor and supply trucks, to cross over, it was so low in the water that it stopped the flow of boats and barges up and down the river beyond that point.

First Squad had taken part in the liberation of Berot not that long ago, but Saunders didn't recognize any of the town as he walked down the street. It looked just like all of the rest of the French villages he had fought his way through since D-Day, and probably all of the ones he would encounter as the war continued to rage.

He pulled the piece of paper Hanley had given him from his breast pocket and looked at the address. A faded arrow painted on the side of the corner building indicated that this was the street he should turn onto. All he had to do was follow that arrow. But, instead, he hesitated. In the end, he wadded up the paper and threw it away as he turned in the opposite direction, heading for the river and the pontoon bridge. He wanted to get as far away as he reasonable could from Berot and from his squad.

Before crossing over, he stopped and bought two bottles of wine, two loaves of bread and a large wedge of cheese. As he walked across the bridge, he could hear the now familiar refrain with each step he took…

Grady…is…dead…

Grady…is…dead…

Kirby passed the first establishment he came to. It was a little too…something he couldn't quite put his finger on; likewise the second one. Then he heard laughter coming up from a cellar and he followed the noise. The stairs were dimly lit and a wooden door at the bottom prevented him from looking in. But, when he pushed it open, he knew this was just the place he was looking for.

It was larger than he would have imagined, judging from what was left of the building above. Not surprisingly, it was already filled with GIs drinking and laughing. It was the nervous laughter he knew so well, the laughter of guys who were glad to be alive, but who didn't know how much longer they would stay that way. And, best of all, it was only about 4 o'clock in the afternoon and there were already a couple of poker games underway in the far corners of the smoke-filled room.

The BAR man grinned from ear to ear. He made his way to the bar, ordered a bottle of cognac and then headed toward one of the tables to check out the competition. He was set for the next forty-eight hours.

Littlejohn didn't know where he was heading or what he wanted to do. He just wanted to enjoy a little peace and quiet. The street he was traveling down was filled with civilians returning to the town. As he slowly walked, he looked at the destroyed buildings and wondered how all these people could rebuild their lives.

An elderly woman, struggling with the cart she was pulling, passed him. Tied to the back of the cart was a milk cow. Five little goats also seemed to be traveling with her. When she paused to rest for a moment, she called to the goats and they came to her like pet dogs. She looked worn out, but she kept moving forward.

In that moment, he thought of his ma. When there was a lot of work to be done on the farm, she always said, "Don't waste time and energy complaining about how much there is to do, just get busy doing it."

The big, lumbering private was always hesitant to talk to civilians. He couldn't speak the language, and Caje's attempt to teach him a few words had ended in disaster. The Cajun had shook his head in dismay and told he spoke French like a Spanish bull. Still, the big-hearted giant approached the lady and asked in English if he could help.

Littlejohn towered over her. She looked up at him with suspicion, not quite sure what he had said, and fearful that he was going to steal what little she had managed to save. But, he had kind eyes and, if he was going to steal, there were certainly better targets than a poor old woman. And, she was so tired. She decided to take the chance.

I would welcome your help, young man. I am going home. It is not far. Follow me.

She stepped away from the cart, called to the goats and began walking resolutely down the street. Littlejohn watched her for a moment, then picked up the cart's handles and dutifully followed. In three long strides he caught up with her. He gently lifted her up and set her on top of a bundle on the cart. Once again, he picked up the handles and began walking.

Unlike Littlejohn, Caje had a simple plan in mind for how he would spend his forty-eight hours. First, he would find a little, out-of-the-way café not overrun with soldiers. There he would enjoy a long, leisurely meal and a bottle of wine. Finally, he would head for the bivouac area and sleep for as long as possible. He figured he could repeat that sequence at least twice, and still have time tomorrow night for whatever might come his way.

He wandered down some of the back streets until he spotted a likely café. Only one of the three small outside tables was occupied, and that only by Frenchmen. As he got closer, he detected a wonderful aroma wafting out of the open door. He entered and the few people seated inside turned to stare at him.

The woman behind the bar called out, Odette, come talk to this American soldier. He must be lost.

A door opened and out stepped the most beautiful young woman the Cajun had seen in…well, for quite a while. Her long, dark hair caressed her shoulders, and her sparkling eyes and smile seemed to light up the room.

"Hello, soldier…de bars are two streets dat way." She gracefully pointed in the direction he should go.

Caje returned her smile and replied, Ah, but Miss, I am looking for a quiet café, not a noisy bar. What is that wonderful aroma I smell?

She laughed. Oh, you speak French…but with a funny accent.

This time, he gave her his most engaging smile. Yes, I'm from Louisiana. Like many in that state, my people were originally from Quebec, the French-speaking part of Canada.

The rest of the café patrons, who had been listening to their conversation, nodded in approval and returned to their own meals.

We cannot offer you much of a choice, but there is some rabbit stew left and it is very good…if you'd like to take a seat.

It sounds delicious…and a bottle of wine, please.

Doc observed the line of people and walked over out of curiosity. Mme. Angolis saw him coming and raised her eyes to heaven in thanks.

"Well, it took you long enough, but finally you have arrived," she said when he got close enough to hear.

The medic looked around to see who she was talking to.

"Don't just stand dere, come in."

When he realized she was speaking to him, he shook his head. "Ma'am, I'm afraid you've got me confused with someone else."

"You are an American army medic, are you not?"

"Yes, Ma'am, but…"

She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the house. Inside, more people were waiting. On the desk was a small pile of objects…a fedora with a feather in the band, a pair of long white gloves, a doll in a soiled blue dress, a few worthless German bills…

An elderly gentleman, leaning heavily on a cane, approached the desk and laid down a medal. The woman immediately picked it up. She held his hand and pressed it into his palm.

No, M. Monette, there is no charge today.

Doc looked again at the pile of items. There was no food. Back home, folks brought eggs or a jar of preserves when they didn't have any money. Here, the people had neither food nor money.

"I will triage. You work in dat room," she pointed to a closed door. "I will send you de routine cases…de minor injuries. De more difficult patients will go to Dr. Angolis. You understand?"

The medic looked at all of the people who were waiting to see the doctor. He decided he could help out for an hour or so. "Yes, Ma'am, that's pretty clear."

At seven o'clock, the woman knocked on the door and asked him to step into the doctor's office when he finished with his current patient. It was the first time he had seen the doctor, whose open, jovial face was unlined, but whose black hair was already streaked with grey. And, the right sleeve of his coat was rolled up and pinned closed.

"You must forgive my wife. She has no shame. But, dank you for helping," he said as he offered his left hand. "I am Dr. Angolis and dis is my wife, receptionist and sometime nurse, Julia."

Doc shook the offered hand. "I'm glad I could be of assistance. Everyone just calls me Doc. Is it always this busy?"

Julia had gotten a decanter and poured out three glasses of cognac. After handing each of the men a glass, she stood by her husband's side, slipping her arm around his waist and resting her head against his shoulder. She closed her eyes for just a few moments of respite. The doctor turned and kissed her forehead.

"No," Dr. Angolis said, "but now dat you Americans have chased away de Boche, people dink it is safe to return to deir homes. Dey are tired and little accidents happen. Dey just need to rest for a bit and to have someone tell dem dat now everyding will be as it was."

Julia opened her eyes and smiled. "You two relax for a moment and finish your cognac. By de time you are done wid de last of de patients, I will have dinner on de table."

"My dear, perhaps Doc has oder plans."

The medic opened his mouth to speak. "I…"

"Well, den it is decided. And, you can stay in de spare bedroom tonight. It will be much more comfortable dan sleeping on a cot in a tent." With that, she left the room.

"I do apologize," Dr. Angolis laughed, "but, as you can see, she is a force of nature."

Billy watched his squad mates walk away. He turned and looked again at the two MPs, but they were engaged in their own conversation. With a big, sad sigh, he picked up his knapsack and started to slowly walk toward the path. However, before he had gone ten feet, he stopped and listened. Off to his right, toward the river, he heard faint shouts and laughter, the shouts and laughter of boys at play. He turned and headed in the direction of the noise.

He stood on the bank and watched. There must have been close a dozen boys of varying ages, but it was hard to tell because they kept disappearing beneath the water as they dunked each other. It made him laugh to see their antics.

"I must say, they are quite noisy."

Nelson practically jumped out of his skin. He hadn't heard anyone come up behind him. A shiver ran down his spine. If he were back on the line, he would be dead right now. He slowly turned around to see a smiling monk watching the boys.

"I had to fetch a few things in the village. Would you like to join us? I'm Brother Michael, by the way."

"You're a Brit!" Billy exclaimed in amazement. "How long have you been British?"

Br. Michael laughed. "Rather all my life, I should imagine."

Nelson blushed. "I meant, how long have you been here?"

"Since before the occupation."

"Are you a spy?" Billy's eyes were wide with admiration.

The monk laughed again. "Oh, nothing so glamorous, my dear old chap. I was a student at university when I decided to enlist, as you might say. I was a novitiate when the Jerries came. I had to keep my mouth shut, of course, which ordinarily would have proved to be impossible for me. But, Father Sebastian had me take a vow of silence, so it worked out quite nicely."

"You didn't speak for four years!?"

"It wasn't that difficult, once I realized that other people's lives depended on me keeping my vow. Sometimes one does have to grow up rather quickly."

Billy thought about that for a moment before responding, "But, you're talking now."

"Quite. When you Americans arrived, Fr. Sebastian allowed me to denounce the vow. Although, at times I think he regrets that decision," he said with a chuckle. "I don't think I need to keep my nationality a secret from you, do I?"

Billy realized the monk was joking with him, but he didn't feel foolish, not like he might have if the rest of the squad were around.

"You really must join us, old chap. It's a dreadfully hot day, so it's perfect for a dip in the river and, I dare say, the boys would enjoy meeting a real American soldier."

He started down the bank. Billy hesitated for a moment and then followed him to a rowboat that was tied to a tree. As they rowed across the river, Billy asked the monk where the boys had come from.

"Sadly, they are all orphans. The Sisters care for the youngest and all of the girls, but at a boy's eighth birthday he comes to us. They have lessons in the morning and chores around the monastery, so they're not totally at loose ends. When they're older, they work in the afternoon at local farms in place of the men, or they run off to join the Maquis. I do hope, as you Americans push the Jerries back, there will be less of that. It is frightfully sad when we receive word that one of our lads has been slain."

The sergeant had been walking for a good hour without meeting anyone when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a sudden movement. From habit, he immediately dropped into a crouch and quickly assessed his surroundings for the closest cover. Once he had moved behind a tree and his breathing had calmed, he cautiously looked out. He could only see one person, or rather half of a person. The lone man appeared to be slowly digging. Saunders gradually eased his way forward to get a better look.

It was an old man, and he was slowly digging…a grave. The corpse lay wrapped in a white shroud nearby. Saunders stood and hailed the gravedigger as he approached so as not to needlessly startle him. The old man looked up and paused, leaning on his shovel and panting, as he watched the American soldier walk toward him.

"Need some help?" the NCO asked. He figured he might as well literally dig a grave since he had been doing it figuratively off and on since Grady had been killed.

The old man just stared at him, so Saunders pointed to himself and then made a shoveling motion. The old man hesitated, looking over at the shrouded corpse. When he turned back, tears were in his eyes.

It is for my granddaughter and her baby. She was the last of my family.

The sergeant only understood the words 'baby' and 'family.' He thought the corpse might be a woman who had died in childbirth. He looked around at the rest of the small cemetery, sitting by itself out in the country.

"Is this your family cemetery?" he asked, indicating the other graves.

The old man pulled himself out of the grave and began giving the sergeant a tour.

My parents…my grandparents…my brother, Jules, who died when he was only three… my wife, Angela…our son, Andre, and his wife, Jeanette, killed by the Boche…my grandson, Pierre, killed by the Boche... He looked over at the corpse, and now my granddaughter, Paulette, who died in childbirth, and the baby who didn't even live long enough to be given a name.

This time Saunders understood the words 'Boche' and 'baby,' as well as a few first names. He leaned the Thompson against a tree and shed his knapsack, helmet, web belt and field jacket. His recent, extensive experience digging foxholes now came in handy.

The old man wiped his arm across his sweaty brow, sighed, and carefully eased himself down to the ground.

Working with a real shovel, the sergeant made short work of finishing the grave. When it was ready, he climbed out and helped the old man move the corpse to its edge. It was then that he realized there were two bodies. The baby hadn't survived either. He jumped back down into the grave, lifted the bodies, and gently laid them in their final resting place. The Frenchman solemnly watched as the dirt was shoveled back in, first covering the shrouded figures and then filling their tomb.

When the NCO was finished, the old man mumbled something, but the sergeant noticed that he didn't make the sign of the cross as he had seen Caje and other Frenchmen do after saying a prayer.

'Maybe he's had enough of God's impotence,' he thought. For him, it had been like burying Grady all over again.

Saunders picked up his gear and was preparing to move on when the old man said, Come, let us share a bottle of wine and think of better times. He walked over to his sack and pulled out a bottle. Motioning to the sergeant to follow him, he moved to a shady spot beneath a gnarled old tree and again carefully sat.

'Well, I guess this is as good a spot as any,' Saunders thought as he joined the Frenchman.

He opened his pack and pulled out the bread and cheese, and another bottle. As they ate and drank, the old man talked about his family, his eyes sometimes filling with tears. The sergeant didn't understand a word he was saying, yet, he somehow knew what was being said.

Perhaps because he and the old Frenchman shared the same sorrow, or maybe it was because he realized that others had suffered far greater losses, or it might simply have been because he was slowly getting drunk on the old man's strong homemade wine after a day of walking and working in the hot sun, but, whatever the reason, the blackness that had surrounded him since Grady's death began to dissipate.

Before the Frenchman drifted off to sleep, he said, Tomorrow, we kill Boche.

Saunders drank a toast to his friend and the rest of the men of the 168th, Third Squad, First Platoon of Fox Company, his and Grady's outfit when they first experienced war. After finishing off the second bottle, he, too, lay down to sleep.

Kirby grinned and rubbed his hands together before he reached out to draw in the pot.

"DRINKS ALL AROUND!" he hollered, and the crowd of soldiers in the bar yelled their appreciation.

This was definitely his night. The cards were all falling his way, and though his opponents moaned and groaned each time he lay down a winning hand, nobody got overly angry with his continuing lucky streak. Of course, his buying rounds for the house every so often helped to soothe the losers' bad tempers.

So, when the MPs arrived shortly after midnight to close the place down, the BAR man was more than a little upset. He walked up to one of them and, with a goofy grin on his face, said, "Hey buddy, whatcha doin'? I'm on a winnin' streak."

"It's midnight, pal, time for all good little soldiers to head to the bivouac area an' sleep it off."

"But, I ain't no good little soldier."

The MP glared at him.

Although Kirby had received more than his share of glares from Saunders and therefore wasn't intimidated by this rookie, he hadn't had so much to drink that he pushed his luck. "Okay. Well, which way's the tents?"

"Out the door to the left."

"An' which way to another…" the BAR man belched, "…fine establishment?"

"Buddy, you don't want any trouble, do ya? Just go an' sleep it off. You can come back tomorrow. They open at 0600."

"What time's…" he belched again, "…that?"

This time the MP's glare looked more threatening.

"Yes, Sir." Kirby saluted, and headed for the stairs, joining the rest of the soldiers who had momentarily stopped to listen to the exchange.

Outside, it was a pleasantly cool night. Kirby looked around, trying to spot another watering hole, but all he saw were other soldiers coming out of the bars that had sprung up like mushrooms along the road. He decided to try the next street over and see if he could find someplace that was still open, even if it was only a café. Getting a little something to eat, with a bottle of wine to wash it down, suddenly seemed like a good idea. He moved against the flow of GIs and turned down the first alley he came to.

It wasn't much of a fight. Two guys grabbed him from behind and before he even knew what was happening, he was thrown up against the wall and punched in the gut. As he doubled over, holding his belly, he was hit over the head with a board. They went through his pockets and took every red cent he had. His body was dragged behind some crates so it couldn't be seen from the street, and there he was left.

They had walked much further than Littlejohn had planned. He didn't know if it was safe for her to be so far from the town. He was about to stop and try to make her understand when the old lady excitedly yelled, TO THE RIGHT, TO THE RIGHT! He turned around and saw her waving her arms and pointing to the right. There was no road, only a well-worn path cut through a field. He pointed to it and she said, YES, YES! The goats seemed to sense that they were close to home for they scampered down the path and were soon out of sight of the slow- moving cart.

When the top of a chimney came into view, the old woman climbed off her perch and ran down the path, as fast as a tired old lady is able to run. Littlejohn continued to pull the cart, hoping that when he finally arrived at the farm, there would be something left, other than ruins. He had seen enough burned out farms. With each step, the building seemed to rise up out of the ground until he was staring at a small, tidy dwelling with an attached barn. As he approached, he could hear the cackle of chickens. A big grin stretched across his face. At long last, something was left intact in this war-ravaged land.

After he helped her unload the cart and return her meager possessions to their rightful places, he prepared to leave. But, she grabbed his arm.

No, no…you must stay and eat. Chop some wood for the stove.

She pointed to the stove and then pulled him into the barn and pointed to the ax. He got the message. As he chopped wood, she caught one of the chickens. She talked soothingly to it before wringing its neck. They dined on roasted chicken, a mixture of greens she pulled from her garden and a bottle of wine she brought up from the root cellar. That night, he fell asleep with a smile on his face in the barn he shared with the cow, chickens, and the goats.

Odette sat down at the table, talking and laughing with Caje while he ate. Afterward, they continued their conversation as they finished off the bottle of wine. As he stared into her eyes, he knew he could listen to her all night.

At last, the woman behind the bar told her she had better go or she would be late for her evening job. Odette looked coyly at the Cajun.

I have another job. Do you want me to go to work or stay with you?

Caje smiled. Stay.

Do you want to stay here or go to my place. It isn't very far.

Caje stood up and pulled some bills from his wallet. He offered Odette his hand as she stood. She was still holding that hand, looking back and smiling at him, as she led him out the door.

The woman behind the bar shook her head. Such a nice boy, she mumbled to herself.

Odette led the soldier down the street and then into an alley. She stopped before a door and said, Wait here, mon cheri. She slipped inside and, after walking down a short hallway, rapped on a door. It was opened by another attractive young woman.

You need to leave right now. I have a guest. Odette whispered.

Already?

He came to the café. Be careful, he speaks French.

How long?

Give us an hour and then sent Marcel. I might have time to catch another one tonight, she said with a little laugh.

When the two young women returned to the alley, Odette smiled and said, Paul, this is my roommate, Antonia. She's going to work now and then will spend the night with her mother.

Caje gently placed his hands on her shoulders and lightly kissed her on both cheeks. It's a pleasure to meet you, Antonia.

Antonia gave Odette a little smile. It's nice to meet you too, Paul. Enjoy your evening. She hurried down the alley and, after a quick glance back at her roommate, she disappeared around the corner.

Odette again took Caje's hand and led him down the hall and into the apartment. She walked across the room and curled up on the davenport, signaling him to join her. After they had cuddled for a few minutes, she got up.

Let's have another glass of wine, mon cheri. I've got a wonderful vintage that I've been saving for a special occasion.

She disappeared into another room and returned with the bottle and two glasses. She filled one of them and handed it to the scout. Try it and tell me what you think.

Caje took a sip. Yes, it's very good.

She refilled his glass and set the bottle on the end table. She again sat curled up by his side, twisting his hair in her fingers as they talked and he sipped the wine. It wasn't long before he began to slur his words and to have a hard time keeping awake.

When he was unconscious, Odette quickly took the glass from his hand and set it on the end table next to the bottle. She removed his wallet and went through his pockets, but found nothing more of any value. She slipped the ring he was wearing off his finger and examined it with an experienced eye. But, shaking her head, she pushed it back onto his finger.

It's not worth much, mon cheri. You can keep it to remember our time together, she said with a little laugh.

There was a soft knock and she glided across the room to open the door.

Ah, Marcel, you're just in time. He's over there on the davenport. Be careful with him. He's rather sweet.

Marcel only grunted as he pulled the Cajun up and draped the lean soldier over his shoulder. Odette opened Caje's wallet and removed two one hundred franc notes. She ran ahead and opened the outer door, checked to make sure the coast was clear, and then signaled Marcel to come ahead. As he passed her, she shoved the bills into his hand.

The Frenchman stopped at the corner. It was only twilight and there were still a few people walking around. But, this wasn't the part of town that was frequented by American soldiers. So, after waiting a moment for the street to clear, Marcel was able to move in the shadows, through back alleys and destroyed buildings without being noticed. When he was far enough away from Odette's apartment, he left the scout's motionless body in a deserted lane, shoved beneath a broken cart.

It didn't take long for Nelson to be enticed to join the boys who were skinny dipping in the river. He stripped down to his shorts and jumped in. Within seconds, he was a kid again. They started to drag Br. Michael in, and he barely managed to remove his habit and throw it back onto dry land before he, too, was submerged by the gang of rowdy boys.

Over time, as exhaustion overtook them, one by one they came out of the water and laid on the bank, letting the warmth of the sun dry them off. After donning their clothes, they followed Br. Michael back to the monastery and into the chapel for a period of quiet reflection. It was perhaps not as quiet as the other Brothers would have wanted, but, in the end, when everyone raised their voices in song, the boys' youthful exuberance brought a smile to even the dourest of old faces.

As they sat down for the evening meal, the older boys arrived.

When they finished eating, Br. Michael formally introduced Billy and told the boys that they could ask him questions about America or being a soldier. It would be a good opportunity for them to practice their English.

Billy was nervous, thinking they would ask him how to drive a tank or how airplanes were able to fly. What if they asked him about the U.S. Constitution? He tried to remember what he had been taught in civics class.

Fortunately, all they wanted to know about was gangsters. Had he ever met John Dillinger or Al Capone? Were there gangsters in every city? How could you identify a gangster if you went into a café?

Since Billy had devoted much of his youth to reading everything he could get his hands on about Bonnie and Clyde, Dutch Schultz, Ma Barker, Pretty Boy Floyd and Machine Gun Kelly, as well as Dillinger and Capone, he could answer all of their questions with authority.

He and the boys talked and laughed for hours until Fr. Sebastian came in, gave them a stern look and said it was time for evening prayers.

Br. Michael invited him to spend the night, but warned him that they got up quite early so they could take care of their livestock before morning prayers.

"How early is quite early?" the soldier asked.

"4:30, I'm afraid."

Billy laughed.

That night, as he lay in a tiny cell, he couldn't help but smile as he thought back over the fun he had had with the boys. But, he also remembered what Br. Michael had said, "Sometimes one does have to grow up rather quickly."


	2. Chapter 2 What happened

21

Chapter 2 – "What happened…"

Doc was awakened by a loud voice. He got up and cautiously crept down the hall to see what was going on. At the back door, the doctor and his wife had their robes pulled tightly around them as they tried to calm an agitated man. Finally, the doctor said something that seemed to satisfy him, because he quickly left. Mme. Angolis was shaking her head when she turned around and saw the medic standing in the archway.

"Is everything alright?" he asked.

"Men! You are so useless at times like dese," Julia said with disgust. She turned to her husband "You know, Robert, women have been having babies since long before dere were doctors!"

The doctor laughed. "Yes, my dear. And, if men had to have de babies, de human race would have come to an end a long time ago."

Doc realized the couple had had this discussion before.

"Still…" Dr. Angolis began.

And, Julia finished, "I know, you must go. But, you can wait a few minutes to have breakfast."

"Yes, dear…Doc, would you like to accompany me? We will have to walk, but it is only two or three kilometers."

The medic began to answer, "Well, I…"

"I will fix breakfast while you two get dressed," responded the force of nature.

Kirby groaned as his eyelids fluttered. He started to roll over, but was hit by a wave of nausea. So instead, he lay very still and tried to remember what had happened.

'There was the poker game…I was the big winner…the cognac…did I have too much to drink? No, not likely. The MP…the cool night air…that was it. It was stupid not to have stayed with the rest of the soldiers.'

He felt the lump on the back of his head and groaned again.

After a while, he pushed himself to his knees. Everything was spinning, and he knelt there for a long time with his eyes closed, trying not to puke. Finally, the spinning slowed down and, leaning against the side of the building, he used the crates to pull himself to his feet. He padded his pockets and was not surprised to find that all of his winnings were gone. He closed his eyes again and tried to figure out what to do.

From what the BAR man had seen, every French town had a central square with a fountain. He decided he would wait there until one of his squad mates wandered by. He thought it was a good plan, especially since it was the only one his aching head could come up with.

He staggered to the end of the alley and asked the first soldier who passed by where the center of the town was.

Littlejohn awoke before the rooster crowed. He intended to head back to Berot at first light, but the old woman was already up. He could smell the fresh baked bread. She had eggs ready for him for breakfast. After he ate, he chopped more wood for the stove and watched as she started doing some repairs around the farm. Before he knew it, he was working at her side.

They didn't talk. If they needed to exchange information, they pantomimed the action because they didn't speak the same language. But, the big private thought, in reality, they did speak the same language, the language of the farmer. For the first time in a long while, he felt at peace. When he paused to wipe the sweat from his brow, he also took the time to listen to the sounds of nature.

The scout opened his eyes. For a moment, he thought he was back at the front and he listened for the sound of small arms fire. But, that wasn't what he heard. It was voices, French voices. He had no memory of what had happened after he and Odette left the café. Odette? Where was she? Was she all right? He had to find her, to protect her. They had established a special bond. Maybe after the war…

He grabbed hold of the cart's wheel to either move it or pull himself out from under it. That's when he noticed that his ring was pushed down on the wrong finger. Reluctantly, he felt for his wallet. It was gone. He realized that their connection hadn't been so special after all.

His head was pounding, but he forced himself to stand and then walk unsteadily to the end of the alley. It was already mid-morning. If he headed to the bivouac area, he might have to wait until dusk, or even later, for his squad mates to appear and loan him some money. And, he didn't even know where they had left their gear, so it would be impossible to find them. He decided to make his way to the center of town and hope that, eventually, one of them would wander by.

The Cajun was surprised to see Kirby sitting, hunched over and dejected, at the fountain.

"What happened to you, mon ami?"

"I got rolled. What happened to you?"

"I was…" What? Taken for a sucker, drugged and robbed by a lovely French girl? He decided to keep it simple, "…robbed, too."

The two comrades sat, slumped and despondent, as a sea of happy GIs continued to swirl around them.

They heard the horn and the cursing of the soldiers who had to jump out of the way before they caught sight of the jeep.

Caje had to smile. 'Only Lt. Hanley would be crazy enough to drive through the streets of a town full of soldiers on R&R,' he thought.

And, sure enough, it was the lieutenant who brought the jeep to a halt in front of the fountain. Caje and Kirby stood, although both were still wobbly.

The lieutenant immediately noticed. 'Kirby, I expected it from him, but Caje should have had more sense,' he thought.

"WHERE'S SAUNDERS?" Hanley bellowed.

Both men reached to cover their ears. "Please, Sir, not so loud," Kirby said with a moan.

"Lieutenant, we haven't seen him," answered the scout.

"I checked the hotel where I thought he would be staying, but they said he never showed up."

"He's taking Cpl. Long's death pretty hard, Sir. When we got here, he told us to leave him alone and he just took off," said the Cajun.

"Well, he needs to get over it." Hanley immediately realized how harsh that sounded when it was said out loud, even though it was, unfortunately, their everyday reality. He sighed and shook his head.

The two privates looked at each other.

"Alright, you two will have to do. Your passes are cancelled. Get in the jeep."

Things had just gone from bad to worse for the scout and the BAR man. It was their turn to sigh and shake their heads. They climbed into the jeep, closed their eyes in an effort to maintain the delicate balance they had managed to achieve with their stomachs, and hung on as the lieutenant quickly maneuvered through the town to the bivouac area. Once they had retrieved their gear and returned to the main road, Hanley pressed down on the accelerator and the jeep roared to life. To the two soldiers' dismay, he seemed to think he had to shout to make himself heard, which only added to their discomfort.

"A CAPTAIN FROM S-2 NEEDS AN ESCORT FOR A RENDEVOUS WITH THE LOCAL MAQUIS. THEY THINK THEY'VE DISCOVERED SOMETHING IMPORTANT, BUT WOULDN'T RISK A RADIO TRANSMISSION. RECENTLY, THERE HAVE BEEN SOME PROBLEMS WITH SOME OF THEIR MISSIONS. THEY THINK THE KRAUTS MIGHT BE LISTENING IN."

"You want us to escort him, Lieutenant?" asked Caje.

"YES. YOU KNOW THE AREA; MOLINEAUX, WHERE YOU JUST DID RECONNAISSANCE."

"Ain't we lucky," said Kirby.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY, KIRBY?"

"THAT THE CAPTAIN'S LUCKY…I MEAN, THAT WE KNOW THE AREA."

"YOU'RE RIGHT."

Caje turned around, looked at his friend and shook his head. Kirby leaned over the side of the jeep and puked.

As they walked along, Dr. Angolis explained to Doc that the young couple were members of the resistance, but had returned home when the Americans arrived so that their baby would be born in the same house as its mother and her mother before her. The doctor gave a hearty laugh.

"Dat is why young Louis is so nervous, probably more so dan when he was fighting de Boche. He has to face not only his wife, but also his moder-in-law, and he feels helpless."

Doc smiled, but there was no joy in it. This Louis didn't know what helpless was.

They walked in silence for several minutes.

"I served in de French army until dis." Dr. Angolis touched the empty sleeve. "It is not a good job, to be a medic or a doctor in de army at a time of war."

The medic looked at him, but didn't respond.

"You feel helpless. Dead is everywhere, and you can do noding."

"But, you're a doctor. Surely you were able to save lives."

The doctor smiled sadly. "If I did not try to save de more seriously wounded, I was condemning dem to dead. But, if I spent too much time trying to save one soldier, anoder one died. I had to make decisions dat only God should make."

"I've always thought that if I can just keep them alive to get to an aid station, they'll be all right. So many times, I can't even do that. All I can do is…" Doc looked away.

"…be wid dem so dey do not die alone. I, too, have sat at too many bedsides as young men cried out for deir moders, and died wid dat cry on deir lips."

They walked the rest of the way in silence.

Louis ran out of the house to meet them. After he and the doctor exchanged a few words, the three men went inside. Mme. LaRue looked up from the large pot she was tending on the stove to see who had entered. She shook her head and returned to stirring.

The medical men followed Louis into a small bedroom. He knelt at the side of the bed where his wife, Anna Marie, lay and held her hand. She raised her head and smiled at the doctor. The medic thought she looked radiant.

Dr. Angolis shooed the other two men from the room and closed the door. Doc stood awkwardly in the middle of the main room of the house while Louis paced and Mme. LaRue continued to stir whatever it was she was cooking on the stove.

When the doctor finally came out, he told Louis he could go sit with his wife. Then he went to Mme. LaRue and they had a long talk. Lastly, Dr. Angolis motioned to the medic to join him outside.

Once they were away from the family, the doctor smiled broadly.

"Anna Marie is fine. It is her first baby, and she is only in de early stages of labor. It will be many hours before de delivery. Doc, it would be most helpful if you would stay here and keep Louis calm. I have a few patients to check on and den I will go back to de office. In de evening, I will return and we will spend de night here, if necessary."

Doc looked stunned. "But, I don't know anything about delivering babies! What if she doesn't wait for you to get back?"

"Do not worry. Mme. LaRue had nine children and she has delivered many more babies dan I have. Dere was really no need for Louis to come for us, but dis is his first child and he is very nervous." Dr. Angolis added with a laugh, "You do know what to do if someone faints, do you not?"

When they went back inside, the doctor explained to Louis and Anna Marie that he had to leave, but that Doc, a medic in the American army, would stay behind. He pointed out the red cross on Doc's helmet and on the brassart on his left arm. That seemed to give the young man confidence and he nodded his agreement. The doctor waved a cheery good-bye to Mme. LaRue as he opened the door to leave.

"Do not worry, Doc. Everyding will be fine," he said just before he closed the door.

The old man had been awake for hours. He was sitting against a tree with the rifle he had carried since joining the militia in 1893 laying across his lap. He had much to think about as he watched the sergeant sleep.

At first, he thought the American was a deserter. But, a deserter wouldn't have stopped to help him, so he dismissed that idea. As he had watched the sergeant gently lay his granddaughter and the baby in the grave, he had finally decided the soldier was just tired of the war and of all of the death it had brought.

Because the American didn't understand French, the old man had been able to speak freely about the tragedies his family had suffered, the deaths and finally the shame at the hands of the Boche. His own granddaughter was guilty of 'collaboration horizontale.'

She had said they were married and that Hans, that was his name, would stay behind and they would all live together on the farm and raise the child she was expecting.

'NEVER!,' he had vowed.

One evening, when the Americans were getting close to Berot, he had shot and killed the Boche soldier as he was returning to his unit. Fortunately, the Boche thought the Americans had done it and there were no reprisals.

But, with the German dead, his granddaughter seemed to waste away. She had died yesterday in childbirth. He knew he should have gone for the doctor, but he hadn't. The baby, the son of a Boche, died shortly after its mother. It had died without being baptized, without even a name. The American had helped to bury them, and his shame, all together in the same grave.

Now, he had to find a way to tell this soldier about the Boche.

Billy awoke with a start. He thought he heard his mother call him to get up and get dressed for school. No, that wasn't right. It was the Sarge calling him. Then he remembered where he was and realized he had been dreaming.

He lay awake in the dark for a long time, thinking about the great time he had had yesterday with the boys. If his little brother, Tommy, had been there, it would have been perfect. Except, oddly, the more he thought about it, the more he felt like he wasn't the one who had had the wonderful time. It was the kid he used to be.

Finally he heard a bell softly chime and then the sound of shuffling feet as the other sleepy residents of the monastery began their daily routine.

The monks and the boys set about their chores in silence, with only an occasional word of instruction from Br. Michael to one of his charges. Billy tried to be useful, but he knew nothing about caring for farm animals. He gave even the youngest boy cause to smile at his clumsy attempts to help. That little fellow slipped his hand into Nelson's when it was time to walk to the chapel for morning prayers, as if the soldier wasn't even capable of doing that without assistance.

Even during breakfast, not a word was spoken. After they finished eating, Fr. Sebastian made a few announcements and then they were dismissed. The boys went scurrying to collect their books and reach their classrooms before another set of chimes sounded. The monks who taught the boys moved from classroom to classroom throughout the morning, giving instruction and listening to the students recite.

Billy stuck with Br. Michael as he taught English and arithmetic. In the English classes, the monk asked him to explain baseball, but the boys just stared at him like he had three heads.

"Don't feel badly. They don't appreciate the beauty of cricket either," Br. Michael said with a chuckle.

After lunch, Billy watched the older boys leave for their jobs on the area farms. He stayed behind with the kids.

The younger boys spent the afternoon on a nature walk, collecting bugs and leaves and whatever else they came across for Br. Michael to identify. When they were far afield, they stopped to rest in a small grove of trees, and the monk explained the solar system to them, scratching out the rotation of the planets in the dirt.

That evening, instead of talking, the boys worked on their lessons. Br. Michael gave Billy a book to read, but he soon found himself wandering outside to look up into the star-filled night sky. He thought about the other planets spinning around somewhere in the darkness.

Eventually, his mind turned to the older boys who worked on the local farms to replace the men who were interred by the Germans or fighting with the Maquis. Br. Michael had said that some of those boys even ran away to become resistance fighters themselves.

The monk's words came back to him once again. "Sometimes one does have to grow up rather quickly." He kept telling everyone he wasn't a kid anymore. But, who was he trying to convince, them or himself?

It was still dark when Saunders awoke. He waited for his eyes to adjust before he sat up. Even so, it was a few moments more before he made out the shadowy form of the old man. They both remained still a moment longer, and then the Frenchman asked, Coffee?

Saunders searched in his knapsack and found a packet. The old man removed a dented pan from his sack and they soon had a small fire going. After sharing the last of the bread and the coffee, the old man pointed to himself.

Listen, I am called Jean Pierre…Jean Pierre.

The NCO had heard Caje say the first word many times before, so he knew it meant 'listen.' He pointed to the old man and said, "Jean Pierre," and then to himself and said, "Saunders."

Jean Pierre beamed. He waved his arms around. This is called the Berot Woods.

Saunders pointed back the way he had come and replied, "Berot."

"Bon, Saunders, bon," Jean Pierre said as he cleared a spot on the ground, picked up a stick and drew a crude map. Listen, Saunders, here is the Berot Woods. Here is the city of Berot and here is the Berot River, indicating each feature as he named it.

The sergeant nodded that he understood.

"Bon, Saunders, bon." Here are the Americans. He indicated a line on the other side of the river to the northeast. He looked at the sergeant and then drew another line parallel to the first but separated from it. The Boche, he said.

The NCO again nodded in agreement. So far, the old man's intelligence was as good as that of S-2.

Listen, Saunders! He drew an 'X' on the map on their side of the river, but further downstream from Berot. He pointed to the mark and said, The Boche!

"No, Jean Pierre," the sergeant said, shaking his head. He pointed to the line of Krauts that faced the Americans. "Boche, yes," he said, nodding in agreement. Then he pointed to the 'X' on their side of the river. "Boche, no," and shook his head again.

The old man tried again, but still the NCO said no. There were no Krauts on this side of the river.

The old man stood up with some difficulty and pointed to himself as he emphatically said, I, Jean Pierre LaCharlette. Then he vigorously tapped his face below his eye, have seen the Boche. He pointed again to the 'X' on the map, on this side of the river.

Saunders was still skeptical. "When?" he asked. He tapped his watch and hoped Jean Pierre understood.

The old man slowly sat back down. He drew a sun and pointed to the sky. He drew another one and pointed to the grave they had dug. He drew two more suns and pointed to the final one when he said, the Boche.

The sergeant quickly ran through the possibilities in his mind. Although he seemed adamant, it was possible the old man was totally confused about when he had seen the Krauts. This side of the river had been cleared and the battle for Berot had taken place almost two weeks previously. Of course, there could be deserters or stragglers, if Jean Pierre had even seen anything at all. And, a lot could change in three days.

Jean Pierre could tell he hadn't convinced the American. Then he remembered the most important thing he had seen. "Saunders," he said excitedly, as he pointed to himself and then his eye, "LES CHARS!"

Saunders shrugged his shoulders as the old man repeated, "LES CHARS! LES CHARS!"

The Frenchman again picked up the stick and drew a square in the dirt. He added two circles at the bottom. Still, the sergeant didn't understand what he was trying to convey. Jean Pierre extended the top line, pointed to the end of it and said, "Boom."

'Les chars might mean some sort of artillery…or a tank,' the sergeant thought. He asked, "Artillery?" and got a blank look; the same with, "Tank?"

Then he thought he would try something else. He only knew the German word for one of them. He took the stick and added a loop around the circles. "Panzer?" he asked.

"Oui, Saunders, oui. Panzer! Les chars!" Jean Pierre exclaimed with a sigh of relief.

If the Frenchman had seen a tank on this side of the river, that was more serious than a few stragglers. The sergeant considered his options. He could go back to Berot, get a squad of men and do a reconnaissance of the area. He wondered how long getting the mission approved would take, based on the statement of one old man, especially since, as he had thought before, a lot could change in three days.

Or, he could have Jean Pierre show him what he had seen. It couldn't be too far. He was, after all, an old man. Since the darkness that descended with Grady's death had lifted, he knew it was one option or the other.

"Alright, we'll check it out. You lead the way," he said as he pointed to the old man, himself and then to the 'X' on the map where Jean Pierre had placed the Krauts.

"Bon, Saunders, bon!" the old man happily replied.

As the sergeant put out the fire and picked up his gear, Jean Pierre put the pot in his sack and picked up his rifle.

Today, we kill Boche, he said as he started off into the woods.

The fresh air might have cleared Caje and Kirby's heads, but it had done little to improve their moods. They wanted nothing to do with any scheme concocted by S-2. Those things never went according to plan. What the two First Squad soldiers wanted was to return to Berot and seek out the people responsible for their current state of misery.

The S-2 captain wasn't enthusiastic about them either. "Lieutenant, I was told the sergeant who led the reconnaissance mission would be my escort."

"Cpt. Billings, I was unable to locate Sgt. Saunders. These men, Pfc. LeMay and Pvt. Kirby, were on the patrol with Saunders. They're familiar with the area."

The captain sighed in resignation. He turned to the two soldiers and said, "Very well. You lead me to the outskirts of the village of Molineaux where we'll rendezvous with the Maquis. They give me the information and we return. That's it. Do you have any questions?"

Kirby and Caje looked at each other. Molineaux was the village where they thought there was a Kraut build-up, not the kind of place for three Americans to go nosing around.

"Sir, didn't Sgt. Saunders report dat we saw a build-up of Krauts at Molineaux?" Caje asked.

"Yes, that was in the report. But, the Maquis has additional information," answered the S-2 officer. "Are you ready to go? We'll take a jeep as far as we can, and then you lead the way."

Kirby looked at the scout and rolled his eyes as he picked up the BAR. He put the strap over his head and shifted the weight of the weapon so it rested more evenly on his shoulder. "We ain't gonna be ridin' very far," he said as he climbed into the back of the jeep.

He was right. They traveled less than a quarter mile when Caje signaled the driver to stop. "We walk from here," he tersely said as he got out of the jeep.

The scout's pace wasn't that fast, but it still left the captain panting as he occasionally had to trot to keep up. When he did, Kirby, who was bringing up the rear, couldn't help but chuckle. 'A desk jockey!' he thought.

Finally, the Cajun stopped. He dropped to one knee and waited for the S-2 officer to collapse at his side. Caje pointed out a little village in the distance, across a number of open fields. "Captain, dat is Molineaux. Where are you supposed to meet de Maquis?" he asked.

Cpt. Billings pulled out his detailed map and studied it. "Here," he pointed to the map. "There's a partially destroyed building."

Kirby groaned.

"What Kirby means, Sir, is dat many buildings in de village are partially destroyed," Caje said quickly as he glanced at the BAR man.

The captain again studied his map, looking for some reference point. "There's a water tower about 200 yards to the north of the rendezvous point."

Kirby groaned again.

Caje glared at his friend. "What Kirby means, Sir, is dat dere was no water tower when we circled de village on our reconnaissance patrol. It's all open ground. Dere's no way to get close to de village without tipping off de Krauts. Are you sure de rendezvous takes place in de village?"

The captain briefly considered what Pfc. LeMay had said, but discounted it. "We'll circle around until we are north of the village and then work our way in." He stood and started moving off to the left.

"Caje, ya heard the captain, we're gonna circle 'round an' waltz right into the village," Kirby said sarcastically in a quiet voice as he and the Cajun stood and watched the officer. After a moment, they cautiously followed him.

When he was north of Molineaux, the S-2 officer waited for the two soldiers to catch up. "There was the water tower," he said as he triumphantly pointed to a twisted pile of metal and wood.

Although he had the good sense to crouch down as he began to make his way toward the pile of rubble, there wasn't enough cover to hide his movements. A single shot rang out from a guard hidden amid the debris. The captain collapsed to the ground. The sentry moved from behind his cover and started to approach the fallen officer. Another shot rang out, this time further to the left of the two American soldiers, and the guard quickly ducked back behind the rubble.

"Cover me," Caje said as he crouched and quickly ran to the captain's body. He checked to be sure that the man was dead before removing the map from his pocket.

Shouting and more shots could be heard as an exchange of gunfire drew more Krauts to the area. The scout immediately returned, and the two soldiers moved deeper into the woods.

"Americans, come." The words were spoken by a female voice.

Turning toward that voice, the First Squad men spotted a small, very pregnant young woman and her two companions.

Luc and Alain, lead the Boche away. The two men melted into the forest and a few moments later, more shots could be heard.

"Americans, follow." She took off in the opposite direction, moving, in the opinion of Kirby and Caje, surprisingly fast for a woman in her delicate condition.

When they were safely away from Molineaux, she turned to the soldiers, letting fly a torrent of French that the scout had a hard time following. Eventually, she paused to take a breath.

Caje, noting the ring on her finger, said, Madam, you are speaking too quickly. Why are you so upset? The captain was trying to reach the rendezvous location you gave him.

Me! You think I told him to enter Molineaux. It's full of Krauts. Who would be so stupid! He was told to meet us 200 meters north of the old water tower. Are all Americans such idiots?

Madam…

Don't call me that. My name is Rachel.

I'm sorry. Rachel, the captain misunderstood…

Then he was still an idiot for not questioning the location when he arrived. She looked around as if trying to decide what to do. She looked at Kirby. "Speak French?"

"No Ma'am er Mamozell; I only speak American."

"I speak not so good English. I am Rachel. You?"

"I'm Kirby an' that's Caje."

"Caje, Kerby, you follow."

Not looking to see if they were coming, she set off at a rapid pace through the woods. Finally, after close to an hour of increasingly cautious walking, she reached a path. She carefully checked to be sure there was nobody else in sight.

"I walk path. You follow in wood. Quiet. I meet Boche soldiers. Do noding stupid."

"Rachel, where are you taking us?" asked Caje.

"You see soon."

Kirby started to say, "Hey, little lady, I don't care if ya are…" but Rachel glared at him just like the Sarge did, so he shut up, out of habit.

"Follow or no. You decide." She spit out the words before wheeling around and starting down the path.

"Mon ami," the Cajun chuckled, "you should know better dan to upset a woman who is so heavy wid child. Dey are very emotional."

They traveled about a half mile when, as Rachel had predicted, the sound of German voices could be heard. The young woman slowed down and wrapped an arm protectively under her protruding belly. Caje and Kirby crouched behind cover with their weapons ready. When the patrol was in sight, she stopped and waited for the Krauts to approach.

Good afternoon, Frau, may we be of assistance? the sergeant asked, speaking slowly in French.

Rachel smiled at him and replied in German, Thank you, Sergeant. I am looking for my husband's commanding officer. Our child will be born soon, and I wanted to ask if my husband could have leave to be present.

The sergeant and all of the men in the patrol smiled at her like proud uncles.

Frau, who is your husband?

She reached up and pulled out the chain she was wearing around her neck, revealing a cross and a Boche name tag. Rudy…Oh, Cpl. Rudolph Neismann, she said as she smiled sweetly. Do you know him?

The Krauts looked at each other and shook their heads.

Sorry, Frau, but we don't. You should speak with Lt. Mueller. Our camp is less than a kilometer down the path. Would you like an escort?

Oh, that won't be necessary, Sergeant, but thank you for the kind offer. I'm sure I will be perfectly safe, with you men on patrol.

She again received kind smiles from all of the soldiers, who said, "Auf Wiedersehen, Frau," as they continued on their way. Once they were out of sight, she stepped off the path as Caje and Kirby came out of hiding.

"Camp one kilometer. I make Boche busy. You look. Here we meet."

Rachel distracted the Krauts. She talked first to the sentries. They led her past all of the soldiers, who stopped what they were doing to watch her, on their way to the commanding officer.

Lt. Mueller didn't know her husband, but he did offer her a small glass of schnapps while she rested. He was very apologetic that he couldn't call other units, but he had orders not to break radio silence. He suggested she ask at Molineaux and they would be able to help her. When she politely refused his offer of an escort, he was kind enough to write a brief note granting her safe passage, in case a patrol should stop her.

While all eyes were on Rachel, Caje and Kirby carefully worked their way around the camp, noting the pile of building supplies, the stockpile of fuel drums and a couple of rutted roads leading off in different directions. But, there were no tanks or other vehicles that might require such a large quantity of fuel. There was only a single, small flat-bed truck being loaded with some of the building supplies. The camp was well hidden among the trees, with camouflage netting covering everything, so it wasn't surprising that it hadn't been spotted on any reconnaissance flights. Its purpose, however, was a mystery to the two soldiers.

"Maybe they was movin' all this stuff to Berot before we kicked 'em out an' now they're movin' it to Molineaux," Kirby whispered to Caje.

"Maybe," the Cajun replied. "We'll let S-2 figure it out."

Later in the afternoon, the two soldiers saw Rachel waddling up the path. When she reached their position, she cautiously looked back to make sure there were no Boche in sight before she joined them. She signaled them to follow as she moved deeper into the woods. When she felt it was safe, she said, "Wait," and disappeared behind a large, leafy bush.

The men exchanged glances, but stayed alert; watching and listening to be sure they hadn't been followed. When she reappeared, she was wearing a pair of trousers and the baby 'bulge' was gone. In her hands were the skirt she had worn and a pillow. She tossed the pillow to Kirby and the skirt to Caje.

"You carry," she said.

The soldiers didn't move. They just stared at her.

"What? You dink Boche is husband? I have Boche baby!? I no collaborator! I spit on Boche!"

"Well, ya had his dog tag," said Kirby.

"Huh," she snorted. "Six months ago I slit throat and take," she answered sharply.

"But why dis deception?" asked Caje.

"Woman not big, not strong like man. Woman use brains," Rachel answered sarcastically. Then she laughed and patted her belly. "Boche help poor girl find soldier husband. Americans also fool easy, no?"

The scout and the BAR man again exchanged glances, each knowing that he would have tried to help her.

"You look Boche camp, no?"

"Yes, but we're not exactly sure what to make of it…all dat fuel but no vehicles…" said the Cajun.

"…an' the buildin' supplies," added Kirby.

Rachel smiled. "Strange, no? We go." With that, she headed off into the woods, in a direction away from the Boche camp.

Kirby turned around and Caje stuffed Rachel's pillow into his knapsack, then Kirby did the same for him. When they were finished, both men hurried to catch up with her.

Littlejohn gave a contented sighed as he stretched and arched his back, trying to work out some of the kinks. He was no longer used to farm work. He and the old woman had spent much of the afternoon weeding the large vegetable garden that lay behind the house and barn. He wondered how she kept the goats from eating the succulent young plants. He had repaired the fence that surrounded the garden in the morning, but it certainly wouldn't keep the little critters out. He looked up at the sky. There was still enough daylight left for him to walk back to Berot.

The old woman also stopped working. She left the garden, walked over to the pump, and began working the handle until water gushed out into the trough. After she had filled a bucket that sat nearby, she called the goats and they came running to her. She reached into her pocket and offered them a few small carrots she had pulled as she thinned the plants. The goats daintily nibbled on the treats and then drank thirstily from the trough as she petted and talked to them. She saw the big soldier watching her as she dipped the ladle hanging from the pump into the bucket and took a long, slow drink.

She raised the ladle and called, Soldier, come and drink.

As the big private ambled over, he watched the goats continue to nuzzle her hand and the pocket, seeking more treats. She said something to them, and they stopped their search and wandered away. He wondered how long it had taken her to train them. They were more like pet dogs than any goats he had ever seen.

That was what a farmer needed and never seemed to have enough of…time…time and peace. He thought of all the farms the squad had already walked over and how many more were to come; all of those farmers driven from their land by the war. It wasn't right.

And, slowly, a smile appeared, because the big soldier from Nebraska finally made sense of why he had been pulled away from his family and the land he loved and sent across an ocean to fight.

The old man walked slowly, but his pace was steady, so the two unusual companions were able to cover a reasonable distance in the morning. When the sun was high in the sky, they stopped for a break. Saunders pulled a bottle of wine and the last of the cheese from his knapsack for their lunch. When they finished eating, they set out again.

It was late in the afternoon when the old man halted. At first the sergeant thought his stamina had at last given out. But, Jean Pierre signaled to quietly follow and he led them in a new direction, first around the base of a small wooded rise and then, crouching low, up the side. When they neared the top, Saunders wanted the old man to wait while he crawled forward to investigate, but Jean Pierre insisted on going, so the two of them slowly advanced.

When they reached the top, spread out before them in the little dell were four Kraut tanks and two half-tracks concealed among the trees and under camouflage netting. Saunders had no map to mark down the coordinates, so he looked around for landmarks. He wished he had binoculars as he slowly surveyed the scene. There were a few Krauts moving around, but, after he had studied the set-up, he decided they were the vehicle crews. There didn't seem to be any infantry.

'I'll bet this is the armor that supports the infantry unit we tangled with in Berot,' he thought. 'That's why the Krauts didn't blow the bridges. They were waiting for their tanks to get across the river, probably to come in behind us, but our armor got there first. Now, they're stuck on this side…or are they?'

Jean Pierre brought his rifle up to firing position, but the sergeant yanked it out of his hands and signaled him to start down. When they were safely away from the rise, Saunders returned the weapon. The old man started back, but the sergeant caught his arm.

Let me go. I have come all this way to kill Boche.

Saunders didn't know what he had said, but he understood what the old man had in mind. He shook his head 'no.' He knelt, picked up a stick and began to scratch another crude map in the dirt.

"Boche," he said as he pointed first to the drawing and then toward the rise.

Jean Pierre nodded.

Next he pointed out a wiggly line. "Berot River."

The old man understood.

"Berot…"

Yes, Jean Pierre agreed.

Now, Saunders hoped he could make Jean Pierre understand. He drew two lines across the Berot River at the town. "Berot bridge," he said.

The old man pondered the drawing. Then he smiled and took the stick the sergeant had been using. He scratched in another set of lines and held up two fingers. Two bridges, then he threw up his hands, making a sound like an explosion and he rubbed out both sets of lines. Finally, he drew in another set of lines and said, American bridge.

Saunders smiled and nodded. 'Good,' he thought. 'The old man understands.'

The sergeant took the stick and made another set of two lines further up the river, across from the Kraut tank position. First he pointed to the bridge at Berot and said, "American bridge." Then he pointed to the new set of lines and asked, "Boche bridge?" Did Jean Pierre know what he was asking?

At first the old man looked puzzled. He knew there were no other bridges across the river where the sergeant had indicated, so he shook his head 'no.' However, after a moment, a smile slowly appeared on his weathered and wrinkled face.

Soon it would be getting dark, but the old man thought they could make it before night descended. With difficulty, he stood and then pointed, Berot River, and headed toward it.

The sun was just setting by the time they hear the sound of rushing water. Saunders didn't want to stumble upon any Krauts or miss something important in the dark, so he pantomimed sleep to Jean Pierre. They moved back, found cover and settled down until dawn.

For lunch, Mme. LaRue served fresh bread to sop up the soup she had been making when the medic first arrived. After they finished eating, she said something to Louis. When the young man didn't respond, she repeated what she had said in a tone that the medic thought left no doubt as to who was in charge. Doc gave a small smile. With nine children, she was used to giving orders and having them obeyed. Louis got up from the table and went out the door. It wasn't long before they could hear the sound of wood being chopped.

That was how they passed the afternoon, with Mme. LaRue giving Louis chores to do, and him sullenly completing them. Doc could see that she was trying to keep the anxious young man occupied, although the medic didn't think Louis understood or appreciated what was happening. She left the medic alone, and he sat quietly in the main room or went into the bedroom every so often to check on Anna Marie.

The contractions seemed to be coming closer together, but Mme. LaRue didn't appear to be concerned. She sat by her daughter's bedside and talked soothingly to her as she worked on repairing tattered pieces of clothing, patching one item with pieces of another that was in worse condition.

As the young woman's cries became more intense, Doc thought they should prepare, but other than putting some water over to boil, he couldn't think of what else he should be doing. So, he started to pace. The next time Louis came into the house, he joined the medic.

Finally, Mme. LaRue left her daughter's side to fetch a worn looking bag from behind a curtain in the main room. Doc could see that the curtain gave a little privacy to the nook that was her bedroom. She turned and sternly spoke to Louis and the medic, waving her hands to shoo the two men out of the house.

Louis looked scared, as scared as any replacement Doc had seen in the moments before the sergeant gave the order to advance and engage the enemy. As he often did at that moment, the medic put a steadying hand on the young man's shoulder and steered him out the front door. As they waited and paced in the gathering twilight, the stillness of the French countryside was broken by the cries of pain coming from the house and Louis' answering sobs of, "Mon Dieu, mon Dieu."

Then, for a moment, there was only silence. The two men looked at each other, both frozen in place. The strong wail of a newborn testing its lungs for the first time broke the spell. Louis dropped to his knees. Doc thought he was saying a prayer of thanksgiving, because that was what he was doing.

When they cautiously re-entered the house, the bedroom door was still closed. Louis looked anxiously at the medic, who again put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. The door finally opened, and Mme. LaRue appeared, carrying a small bundle which she gently placed in Louis' arms.

She beamed as she said, A son, Louis…you have a son, and I have a grandson.

Louis carried his child into the bedroom and closed the door. Doc imagined the new parents were counting the fingers and toes of their first born. Mme. LaRue produced a bottle of cognac and poured a glass for herself and one for the medic.

Later, when Dr. Angolis arrived, he found the medic sitting in an old stuffed chair by the unlit fireplace, staring at the little miracle of life he was holding in his arms.

Ah, Doctor, the new grandmother said, you are just in time for supper.

While they were eating, the grinning new father came out of the bedroom.

Tonight, I am the happiest man in all of France. Soon, the fighting will be over and my son will grow up as a proud, free Frenchman. I have promised him this. He bent over and kissed the old lady on the top of her head. Tomorrow, I must rejoin my comrades, but tonight …tonight I can think of nothing but my son and the joy that fills my heart.

By the time the doctor and the medic started back to Berot, it was pitch black outside. They walked in silence for a while, each lost in his own thoughts.

Dr. Angolis broke the spell, speaking in a quiet voice. "When I returned from de fighting, I discovered I had an unseen wound, a wound dat pierced my soul. It also had to be mended." The medic didn't see the bittersweet smile on the doctor's face. "It was only after I delivered a baby and held it dat de wound began to heal. If you have faid, den each new life brings hope. Do you have faid, my friend?"

They continued on in silence.

Doc's faith was the only thing that had gotten him through some days. He suddenly realized he hadn't answered the question. "Yes…yes I do."

"I dought you might."

They walked in silence the rest of the way.

By the time they reached the Maquis camp, the effects of their ill-fated night in Berot had caught up with Caje and Kirby. That, and the many miles they had walked during the day.

Rachel led them to a small cave. They followed her in and watched as she was affectionately greeted by an older man. Luc and Alain were also there and gave her big grins. She and Alain embraced and kissed.

"Alain," she said to Kirby and Caje, "is husband." She gave him another kiss before she turned to address the older man.

Papa, Alain and Luc told you what happened. The third American was stupid and got himself killed, but these two, Caje and Kerby, are good soldiers. She laughed. They have been well trained and follow orders. And, Caje speaks French!

Caje chuckled and translated for Kirby.

"I'll bet the Sarge will be glad to hear that!" the BAR man said dryly.

Rachel's father stood and shook hands with the Americans. I am code-named 'Arrow.' You saw that the Boche are up to something. We don't know what, but it must be important. That is why we had to show you. You understand?

Yes. We'll let S-2 know what we saw, Caje replied.

Good. Tomorrow, Rachel will take you back to your lines. When she returns, she will have the orders for what my unit is to do. But, tonight we celebrate.

Kirby's head had been bobbing back and forth as he tried to follow the conversation and to stifle a yawn. However, he was unable to do either.

Papa, they are tired. Rachel said.

Like us. They can rest after the Boche have been defeated.

He hooked arms with the two soldiers and led them out of the small cave and toward a larger one nearby. Inside were other members of his unit of the resistance, a few young men, two no more than boys, but also some older ones, and two other women. They were gathered around a fire which had a large kettle suspended above the flames. Several bottles of wine, as well as bread and cheese, were being passed around.

Arrow ladled some stew onto plates and handed them to the Americans. The bread and cheese were passed to them, and they broke off hunks of each. When the wine reached them, Kirby took the bottle and happily took several long swallows before handing it to the Cajun. He wiped his mouth on his field jacket sleeve.

"Ya see, Caje, since we gotta be in France fightin' this here war, we should be doin' it the way the Frenchies do, with wine at every meal."

Caje laughed and said, "Well, mon ami, why don't you suggest that to de sergeant."

"I might just do that…sometime."

Caje continued to laugh. "Let me know before you do. I want to make sure I have a front row seat to see Saunders' reaction."

Further back in the cave, someone started to softly play a squeeze box. Occasionally, a couple got up and swayed to the music, but most sat, listening to the sad songs and slowly emptying the wine bottles.

Rachel came over and sat between Caje and Kirby as they ate. At times, she softly sang the lyrics of a song.

"This sure ain't like any celebration I've ever been to," Kirby said.

She gave him a sad smile. "End of war is close."

The two Americans exchanged puzzled looks.

"Then why ain't ya happy?" Kirby asked.

"Before, only war. Now, end is close. We see all we lose…family, friends. They not here for celebrate." She looked sadly at the two soldiers. "Someday, you understand."

They sat in silence, listening to the music.

Finally, she softly said, "Someday, we happy."

One thing was for sure. These members of the resistance were nothing like the scoundrels they had the misfortune of crossing paths with in Berot. With that thought in mind, the two Americans fell asleep long before the sad songs came to an end.

The two of them made an odd pair, the old woman, stooped from her many years of toil on the land, and the big American soldier who worked at her side. Littlejohn thought no more about returning to Berot for the remaining hours of his pass. He was content to stay on the little farm.

When she returned to the house to prepare their evening meal, he chopped more wood, cutting not only enough for breakfast, but also to fill the box by the stove. He decided to gather more kindling in the morning, picking up branches to form a large bundle as he had seen the French civilians do.

After eating, the two sat outside on the chopping block. They sipped their wine as they looked up at the stars in the clear night sky. It was a beautiful evening, so quiet and peaceful, with not the slightest hint that a war raged not so many miles away.


	3. Chapter 3 It was just what I needed

6

Chapter 3 – "It was just what I needed"

Both Saunders and Jean Pierre were awake long before the first rays of the sun began to appear at the horizon. The sergeant found some crackers in his knapsack which they washed down with a couple of swallows of water. Then they waited.

At long last it was light enough to see and they made their way back to the river. The banks were steeper than in Berot and the water ran swiftly, not ideal conditions for building a bridge. But, the old man kept indicating they should continue on. He obviously had some location in mind.

Suddenly, Saunders froze. He dropped to one knee, grabbing Jean Pierre's arm and pulling him down. The noise was faint. It could hardly be heard over the rush of the water but…There it was again…It sounded like pounding.

He signaled the old man to wait, but Jean Pierre shook his head 'no' and started to move forward. The sergeant pulled him back, indicating he would go first. He began to cautiously move ahead, looking for sentries and booby trap wires. When he thought it was clear, he signaled Jean Pierre to come forward and then started the process over again. It was slow and tedious, but at last he saw the source of the noise. He put a finger to his lips as the old man joined him.

There, in the river ahead of them, were a dozen men in the water with another six working on the surface of a partially completed bridge. It already spanned from the opposite bank almost three-quarters of the way across. On their side of the river, one lone guard leaned against a tree, smoking as he watched the bridge builders. Saunders couldn't see any sentries on the opposite bank, only a truck full of supplies.

He wanted to get a look at the terrain beyond the bridge since from where they were positioned, the river seemed to disappear, and then reappear a hundred yards further downstream. He put a hand on Jean Pierre's rifle and shook his head 'NO!' Then he signaled the old man to stay put. As he pulled back to make a wide circle around the site, he could only hope the Frenchman understood and complied.

Once again, the NCO moved slowly and carefully, skirting the construction before he made his way back to the river. The activity on the bridge continued, but he saw no other guards. However, the river had changed. The Krauts were building their bridge just before a weir with a drop-off of about five feet. The river level was high enough that the water gushed over the dam, churning and creating whirlpools before continuing to rush downstream. On the opposite side, the weir ended abruptly about thirty yards before reaching the bank, creating a channel where the water was flowing even more swiftly. Just beyond the weir were the ruins of a mill, its waterwheel still visible, sitting at the edge of the channel, and leaving just enough space for a narrow boat to pass. Beyond the mill, the river widened significantly.

Saunders carefully surveyed the surroundings, noting all of the landmarks he could so he would be able to locate the position on a map. When he was satisfied, he made the journey back to where the old man was impatiently waiting. He signaled Jean Pierre and together they retreated back into the woods.

After they were safely away, Saunders cleared a space on the ground, picked up a stick and redrew the map in the dirt to try to make the old man understand. He again put his hand on Jean Pierre's rifle and shook his head 'NO.'

Pointing first to the line beyond Berot, he said, "The Americans."

The old man nodded.

Next he indicated the tanks and the Kraut bridge. He threw up his hands, making a sound like an explosion, just like the old man had done yesterday afternoon.

The Frenchman nodded his understanding.

Finally, the sergeant pointed to the sky as he drew a sun, again as the old man had done. Then he drew another sun and made the explosion noise.

A great smile appeared on Jean Pierre's face. "Bon, Saunders, bon," he said.

The sergeant pointed to the town of Berot and himself, and then to the tiny crosses he had drawn and to the old man. Jean Pierre stood and shook hands with the American soldier. Saunders took off at an easy trot back along the river toward Berot as the old man slowly began his long walk back to his empty home.

Doc awoke after a long and restful night of sleep. He lay in bed for a few minutes, enjoying a sense of contentment. Dr. Angolis was right. He had been surrounded by death for too long. The medic was a man of faith, but it was good to have had that faith renewed.

Dr. and Mme. Angolis had eaten their breakfast, and the office was already full of patients when he appeared in the reception area. He gave Julia a sheepish grin as he headed for the little room where he had worked when he first arrived. She stopped what she was doing and led him, instead, to the kitchen where a pot of coffee still sat on the stove along with a large dish of porridge.

After eating, he joined the couple as they ministered to Berot's returning citizens. At 1245 he said his good-byes, picked up his rucksack and walked out the door, heading for the truck that would take him back to the war.

Billy spent a restless night. He sat through morning prayers and breakfast as if in a trance, and was still lost in thought as the boys left the table to collect their books. Br. Michael approached him with concern written across his face.

"Are you quite alright, old chap?" he asked.

"Yes. I go back this afternoon."

"Back to the fighting?"

"Yes." He looked at Br. Michael and the monk watched as a change come over the young soldier's face. His pleasant, soft features suddenly took on an air of determination as he straightened his spine. "Yes, that's where I belong."

The monk nodded, acknowledging both the young man's unspoken struggle and his new-found resolve. "Will you join the boys until it's time to leave?"

Billy smiled. Yes, he would join the boys, but he was no longer one of them.

The Maquis camp came to life at dawn. None of the sadness that had permeated the previous night's gathering was visible to the two Americans. Instead, the resistance fighters seemed filled with a quiet strength as they received their assignments from Arrow. Rachel kissed her father and her husband good-bye. Instead of wearing the disguise of a pregnant young woman, she slung a Kraut Schmeisser over her shoulder and took on the roll of a veteran leader, issuing short, brusque orders to Caje and Kirby.

They traveled back to the Kraut camp for another look, but didn't dare get as close as previously. The only change they noticed was that this time there was no truck. They watched what little activity there was for two hours, hoping to pick up some clue as to the purpose of the camp, but nothing came or went. The few soldiers that were present seemed relaxed as they nonchalantly walked their assigned sentry routes or sat quietly talking and smoking.

Finally, the three secret observers withdrew, and Rachel led them in a careful, circuitous route back toward the American lines. As they got closer, Caje took over. He exchanged passwords with the sentries and then they made a bee-line for Second Platoon's CP and Lt. Hanley.

Littlejohn awoke feeling a little stiff and sore. But, it was the good kind of soreness that comes from hard work and the satisfaction of a job well done. After only one day, he was attuned to the rhythm of the small farm and he smiled as he heard the goats dancing on the barn's hard packed dirt floor and the soft singing of the old woman in the kitchen. He got up and let the goats out and saw to the needs of the cow. The sun would be up in about an hour and then he would head out to gather branches for kindling.

Walking along collecting the sticks was much more enjoyable than any of the patrols the big farmer had been on, and he made the most of it. He didn't pick up any branches close to the farm, leaving them for the old woman to gather after he was gone. Instead, he walked further than he imagined she traveled. He ambled along, enjoying the simple chore, and was surprised when he reached the river. 'If I'd known we were this close,' he thought, 'I'd have done a little fishing.' He sat beside the slow-moving water and listened to it lap against the bank. It was the perfect way to end his forty-eight hours of peace and quiet.

When he returned, the old woman had a lunch of soup and bread already on the table and a package of food for him to take. He didn't know how she knew that he had to leave. He wanted to thank her, but couldn't think of the right words to say, even if he had spoken French. So, in the end, he gave her a shy smile and waved as he headed down the road, back to Berot.

Up ahead, Littlejohn saw the medic come out of a house and he hollered to him. Doc waited for the big private to catch up and they continued walking together.

"Did you have a good time?" asked the farmer.

The medic didn't answer right away, because his forty-eight hours hadn't been spent in a way most soldiers would classify as a 'good time.'

Finally, he replied, "I did. It was just what I needed."

Littlejohn smiled and said, "Me, too."

When they arrived at the rendezvous point, it was only 1320, but the truck was already there and Brockmeyer was anxiously pacing as he smoked.

"Ya seen Saunders? Lt. Hanley wants him back pronto," the corporal said.

Littlejohn and Doc exchanged glances. "No," Doc said as Littlejohn shook his head. "We haven't seen him since we arrived. What's going on?"

Brockmeyer shook his head. "All I know is the lieutenant said to start back as soon as the Sarge gets here."

"Well, then I'm glad we're early. Have you seen any of the rest of the squad?" Littlejohn asked as he settled his big frame on a log beside the road.

"I haven't seen Nelson yet, but Kirby an' Caje are already back."

The medic and the farmer again exchanged glances, wondering what could possibly be going on that would have that goldbrick, Kirby, back one second before the end of his pass.

All of the boys gathered around Billy to bid him farewell. Br. Michael walked with him until the pontoon bridge was within sight.

The young soldier stopped and offered the monk his hand. "Thanks, Br. Michael, for everything. I…well, just thanks."

The monk shook Billy's hand. "Sometimes one needs to take a step back to see how far one has traveled," he said with a smile. "Go with God, my friend, and, if you ever return to Berot, you will always be welcome here."

Billy nodded. The two men turned and continued on their assigned paths.

When he was half-way across the bridge, Billy stopped and looked back in the direction of the monastery. Br. Michael would probably be leading the younger boys on some sort of outing. He, however, needed to cross this bridge. As he shifted his rifle, he heard footsteps coming quickly toward him. He glanced back and then waited for his sergeant to catch up.

Saunders stopped. "You okay, Nelson?" he asked.

"Yeah, Sarge, I'm good." Billy cautiously asked, "How about you?"

Saunders gave him a little smile. "I'm good, too, Billy. C'mon, we need to get back."

The NCO again broke into a trot and Billy easily kept pace at his side.

When Brockmeyer saw them coming, he told Doc and Littlejohn to get in the truck. He climbed behind the wheel and started the engine. As soon as Billy got in the back and Saunders slammed the cab door, the corporal shifted gears and began to turn the vehicle around.

"Wait a minute," the NCO said. "We've gotta wait for Kirby an' Caje."

"They're already back, Sarge. The lieutenant wants to see ya right away."

"Good. I've got a few things to tell him, too."

The corporal stepped on the gas and the big truck surged forward.

(a) From season one of "Combat!"

(b) Reference to 'A Day in June' from season one of "Combat!"


End file.
